Page 58 of Sinful Promise
“Yeah, I’m coming.” I cross the apartment to Minka and pull her in, even when her first instinct is to push me away and demand answers. “Don’t approach the witness until I’m there to have your back,” I tell Fletch. “I’ll be there in ten.”
Hanging up, I drop the phone into my pocket and wrap my wife close. “I have to go out and talk to someone about one of my current cases.”
Her eyes narrow, while in my arms, her body stiffens. “Hit-and-run?”
I shake my head so she knows everything she needs to know, but without my brothers hearing. Feeding them more than they already know is plain stupid.
“Not the hit-and-run. Apparently, Fletch was fed a name today. A witness who saw the guy’s killer come out of the house.”
“But…” She searches my face, desperate to unravel my words. “The killer?”
“Mm. Just one. Some guy. So I have to run this down with Fletch and tie it up.” Pressing a kiss to her cheek, I glance across to Cato and glare. “Stop arguing with my wife. Don’t be a dick. I’ll be home soon.”
“I could come with you.” He bounces his ball and starts in our direction. “We’ve already established I have ID that’ll get me into a club. It could be a bonding moment for us.”
“This isn’t Bring Your Kid Brother to Work Day, Cato.” I point toward the couch. “Stay with Micah, and don’t be a pain in Minka’s ass. I’ll be back in a little while. Then we’ll discuss our sleeping arrangements.”
He scoffs andbounce, bounce, bouncesthe ball. “There are no arrangements to be made. I’ll put a blanket down in front of the TV. All set.” But then he glances to Minka. “You’re just gonna let him walk out at this hour?” He whistles under his breath. “To go to aclub?”
“Shut the fuck up.” Shaking my head, I press a final kiss to Minka’s brow before pulling away and heading to the door. “You’re exhausting, Cato. Stop it.”
“Call me.” Minka’s words are quieter. Gentler. And when I bring my gaze to hers, I find worry pulsing deep inside. “Let me know what’s happening.”
“I will.” Puckering my lips, I blow a silent kiss in her direction, then I open the door and step into the hall.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull up to the Opulus Club, which entertains a younger crowd, and boasts a trendier setup compared to Tim’s Bar.
This is where the twenty-somethings come to drink and dance. Which means Fletch’s witness is probably young, too. Dumb. Looking for a quick buck to fund their night.
As I approach the club doors, a couple of bouncers step in my way, so I take out my badge and clear a path without having to speak. They wave me in, while at my back, a line of disappointed club-goers still awaiting entry whine at the injustice.
Taking out my phone, I unlock the screen and find Fletch’s message thread. Then I type,I’m here. Where are you?
Strobe lights mounted to the ceiling zoom across the crowd. Oversized cages litter the club, and within them, dancers and drinkers have a good time. The bar lines the back wall, and stools sit just a foot apart, so only skinny chicks can fit, and anyone bigger is not welcome here.
It’s all wrong for the aesthetic, I suppose.
I glance around the two-thirds packed room, past the girls in the cages, and around couples grinding close as they decide if they’ll invest in a night with each other. I search for my partner, brown hair and thick build, amongst a crowd ten years our junior.
When a hand claps down on my shoulder, adrenaline shoots through my blood, and I swing my elbow around and spin, fast on my feet, only to stop on Fletch’s smug grin as he peeks at my elbow.
“You asshole!” I shove him back and growl when I spot a cocktail glass with a little umbrella fisted in his left hand. “What the fuck?”
“It’s just pineapple juice.” Snickering, he brings his drink up and sips the fruity concoction. “We stand out like old fuckin’ men in here, Arch. So I’m trying to blend in.”
“Pineapple juice in a fancy glass doesn’t change how you look.” I turn toward the cage closest to us to find a group of women gyrating inside. They’re not pro dancers. Just the drunk kind who feel pretty good about themselves in cute dresses and heavy makeup. They sway and laugh, and they make the sex-kitten eyes for any man who pays them attention. “Who are we here to meet?”
“Some dude.” He sets his glass on a nearby table and heads toward the bar. “It’s not as loud over this way,” he shouts as we pass a speaker. “Fuck, Arch. I’m too old for places like this.”
How the mighty have fallen.I chuckle and follow him all the way to a tall table and a couple of empty stools on the far side of the room.
Sitting, I set my arms on the tabletop and look around us. “At what point did these people start to look like children to me? Fuck, but I swear, I was sixteen only the other day.”
“Feels that way for me too.” Sliding his ass onto the other spare stool, he grimaces when a lookalike set of women meander past and slow their steps as they glimpse my watchful partner.
They’re not twins of the biological variety, but fuck if they don’t see the same hairstylist, makeup artist, lip filler, and department store for clothes.
“I think things changed once Moo came along. I was no longer the kid. Now these chicks make me feel a little icky, ya know?” Then he lifts his chin. “Over there.”
